In Search of Lost Time
by Thewebhound
Summary: Trials are aplenty for a devastated Harry Potter, as he must combat Voldemort in an effort not just to save his sanity but also to thwart Voldemort from acquiring the ultimate weapon.


In Search of Lost Time  
  
Chapter One  
Confined Spaces  
  
No man is an island  
Entire of itself  
A part of the continent  
A piece of the Maine...  
....Any man's death diminishes me  
Because I am involved in Mankind  
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell  
tolls  
It tolls for thee  
John Donne  
  
The past is a jigsaw puzzle made out of a mirror, as you piece the broken pieces together you cut your hands, and your image changes. It could destroy you, drive you mad, or sometimes set you free.  
  
Now, many years on, I look back on the past, and contemplate what little I won and how much I lost. It is often that I wish to go back, do something differently, perform, or refrain from performing that one tiny action which changed lives, societies, and history. However, I know that even if I did have that so often wished divine power...  
  
I wouldn't change a thing.  
  
The past is always a nightmare, and always returns to me in a nightmare, in a nightmare every choice you make is a wrong one, and that is what the past seems to be full of, wrong choices. You're only chance is to face it those choices, confront it, challenge it, look it in the eye, and simultaneously fight the quagmire of darkness which spreads around you, like the merciless sea and a drowning man.  
  
To rise each morning, and concentrate on getting through the day, one day at a time, with nothing more than the slender belief of good times to come in the future is a pitiful existence, but one which is led by many people on this globe, and I can lay claim to the mentioned existence . Is it because we find the past so traumatic, the present uncertain that we find the future so  
  
However, this quagmire of despair and doom can be fought, can be defeated by one of the strongest emotions of humanity, which is faith.  
  
Faith is a strong thing, to believe in something gives you a secret strength in times of trial. We are willing to suffer to die for the things that we care about, things that we believe in. Men who believe in causes, who had a vision for the future, which they believed in, has led armies to victory, have changed history.  
  
I have faith that people are awarded the good things of life for who they are, and for what they do. I believe that there is a moral justice for people meted out each day. I have faith that light shines at the end of the dark and long tunnel for those who spend their childhood, teens and adult years shrouded in that darkness. I have faith in moral justice for all at the end of the road according to the way one has spent his or her life.  
  
That is what this story is about, faith.  
  
It is a dark, dark night. A silent night. A lonely night. A night where the dead arise and return to haunt the world. All is quiet. All is calm, here in the world of Privet Drive, suburban utopia. Up above in the sky the stars were as if they were fireflies ensnared in a giant spider's web. They winked, they twinkled. Yet these tiny beacons of light from other galaxies paled in comparison to the bright, bright full moon. Even the streetlights were cast into insignificance as the pale light shone down on the deserted streets of suburban Surrey. Nothing seemed to escape this light; a giggling courting couple, huddled under a tree were highlighted in it, and a slinking cat on some errand of mischief was bathed in it, giving it a distinct ghostly aura. Now just opposite the couple in, in Number 4, a pale faced teenage boy could be just perceived peering out an upstairs bedroom window. The moonlight sought him out, the light glinted off his spectacles, and it gave him a spooky aura as well. However, his features couldn't be made out, because the shadows seemed to envelop him and it seemed to act like a mask of sorts.  
  
Suddenly there was the flapping of wings, the rustling of feathers. A snowy white owl, like some divine winged messenger from the gods, seemed to materialize out of thin air; it made a beeline towards the window, and towards the teenager. The teenager advanced out of the shadows to welcome the owl, and the moonlight found his face. Black hair, pale face, average height, he seemed a normal boy.  
  
There were many boys, who looked like him, all over England, the world over, with the same features, hair colour, eye colour, black hair, green eyes...you could find him in the rural hamlets, and in the hustle and bustle of the cities. You could find boys like him on all the continents, he looked normal, he seemed normal.  
  
But then, there was only one Harry Potter.  
  
Here begins the Narrative of Harry Potter...  
  
I take up this story during the height of the summer of 1996, during the days when I was about to turn sixteen. Sweet Sixteen. Hah...there was nothing sweet about my birthdays, least of all this one. Good birthdays weren't something that was normally associated with me, because I had the misfortune to be born during the holidays. Normally any other kid would be happy to have just that, birthday cakes made by your mum, presents from your uncles, aunts, and sometimes a party with your relatives' invited and so on. Not me, no. The only presents I got from my only blood relatives was something crappy, like a bottle lid or tissues and once, for some inexplicable reason, a large wooden box used by freight companies. My cousin Dudley had then proceeded to bundle me into it on that day and seal me inside with sticky tape.  
  
At least I thought I could expect some good stuff from my friends, Hermione, Ron and the others, even though their correspondence was appalling despite the fact that I wrote every three days (and the Dursleys made sure I did so), I thought at least I could expect something to eat... But on that 'special' day nothing, nothing at all came from them, not even a card! I couldn't believe it! What would Voldemort want with my birthday presents? Sabotage my broom wax by making it extra slippery, so that I would slip off when I was flying? Send me a basilisk egg? Or send me poisonous sweets so that I would in a moment of gluttony, perhaps brought on by the cheer of the festive occasion, gulp them all down and then proceed to croak on my bedroom floor?  
  
These days everything seemed to begin and end with Voldemort. Each and every thought seemed to lead to a winding dusty road, which lead back to the start. He was the bane of my existence, as I was no doubt his. My whole life was one whole story of misery because of him; of course, there were others who could relate a similar story, but yet.... Describing my mood wasn't easy, because it was a whole mixture of moods. I wasn't a happy person my feelings wreathed in despair, depression, dejection, and that, of course, was more than obvious. I wasn't angry, I wasn't boiling with rage, but yet I wanted to strike back at the world, to punish it for making my life agony. It was like wrestling with an emotional quagmire. I guess I was confused, and tired. Tired of life, really. When one had the loads of time I had, one starts to think, and for someone in my state of mind, my thoughts didn't have far to travel before they became morbid and, not to say the least, iffy.  
  
If I hadn't so stubborn and stupid. If I had been more obedient of Dumbledore and his wishes. If I hadn't been gullible, if I hadn't played the sodding hero...  
  
If, if, if.  
  
I might have blamed myself a teeniest bit for Cedric's death, reason told me I couldn't have foreseen the consequences of insisting he take the cup with me, but I knew, I knew that Sirius' death was my fault. Wholly, unequivocally my fault. No matter what Dumbledore said, no matter what any other person said, I had led him and a dozen others into a trap so bloody obvious that even a mentally retarded person wouldn't be hard put to see right through it. I was human and humans made mistakes, but such a mistake for unforgivable, the most cardinal sin possible. I would always blame myself, right up to the end of my days, to the day, hour, minute and the last second that I breathed my last breath.  
  
....which on second thought didn't look quite far off...  
  
The loss of Sirius hit me like one of Dudley's famous knockout punches a few days after I got back to Privet Drive. The blow was staggering. I thought I'd come to terms with his death, but I guess I must have been preoccupied with the prophecy as well as thinking of Sirius. Now here, all alone by myself I pondered what would have happened, what could have happened, if I had bothered to check, if I had bothered to stop and think.  
  
Again if, if, if.  
  
The illusion comes afterwards, when you ask yourself, 'Why me' or 'What if'. When you look back and see the branches of choice, fate, like the forked tongue of lightning.  
  
But an important lesson that I had to learn was that if you had done something differently, it would be someone else looking back on the past, asking a different set of questions.  
  
My mind travelled so, so far that it felt like Sirius wasn't dead, but just gone on a long journey. I couldn't concentrate on anything. From reading the Daily Prophet to watching television. Luckily for me we had no homework for this year since we had just finished our OWL's.  
  
I suppose it was a matter of perspective, tied to time and place, love and friendship. Life and Death. Everything is subjective. Choice, answers, good and evil. Nothing is what is seems like. The world wasn't black and white, but merely an inconsistent shade of grey.  
  
It was hard; so hard; learning to handle the crippling emotional pain. It was the greatest and hardest task I had faced to date. Nevertheless, I wasn't to know that it would be a training of sorts for the months to come. However, more of that later. Anyway, I felt like that I would never be the same again, and that was true in a certain way. I wouldn't be the same again.  
  
Of course then I was an adolescent twerp, and I didn't realize that feeling pain like that was the greatest proof that I was human and good like Dumbledore had mentioned a few weeks back. But at the time I wanted to forget the pain, I wanted to be strong, I didn't want to feel the pain, I wanted the pain to stop.  
  
I want to not care; little do I realize that I care too much. I want not to love; little do I realize that I love too much. I want to be free of shadow of death, which has been stalking me ever since I was born; I never want to see Death again. I want the pain I feel to stop. I want to be free of the burden that Destiny has placed on my shoulders. I want to know freedom...  
  
Then my thoughts drifted across to Voldemort, and the Prophecy. I now realize that I was the Chosen One. The Secret Weapon. Chosen to be the one to clash with the dark side, chosen among thousands, the first among equals. What made me so special? Why was I Voldemort's ultimate Nemesis? The answer to that question was something I would learn in the months to come.  
  
As far as I could see I had two choices, Destiny had presented me with two branches. To fight, and to live....or to die. Both paths scared me. What if I lost? Then everyone would die, and die horribly, everyone who stands beside me would perish, Ron. Hermione. Ginny. Mrs Weasley. Dumbledore, and on and on and on. However, what if I won? What if I defeated Voldemort only to emerge triumphant, victorious....but all alone? All alone because everyone around me was dead. I guess that was my ultimate fear. Loneliness. From spending ten lonely years at the Dursleys, to finding that I wasn't all alone after all, that there were people to love me, to stand beside me, who had stood beside me, even though I couldn't see them, and again to loneliness...was that to be my destiny? Was victory worth that? Was extracting revenge for my parents and all that had died at Voldemort's hand worth it? Revenge was best tasted cold, but it could also leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth.  
  
Moreover, it was when I felt the heavy ring of responsibility fall around my shoulders that I learned the true meaning of the word. It could be said that I was in debt to the magical world. It gave the opportunity, the avenue, out of my sordid existence with the Dursleys and into the world where I belonged, where I could throw of the shackles of my relatives and of my past. Now it was 'payback time' as they say in those cheesy muggle films. Moreover, if I failed to make the payment...the consequences were terrifying. I had to defeat Voldemort.  
  
Which was easier said than done.  
  
With a shiver, I remembered fighting him in the graveyard the year before last, I remembered watching Dumbledore duelling him in the Ministry a few weeks back. He was fast, lightning fast, inhumanly fast. His repertoire of spells...The power of them... What could I do? I was but a teenage wizard who had seen a wand for the first time roughly six years ago. I didn't stand a chance, not a damn chance. Sweets at a kiddie's party stood a better chance than I did. A butter kettle on a stove had a better chance than I did. I wouldn't even get the chance to lift my wand up... The only way I could defeat him was to challenge him to a Quidditch match, I thought wryly. First one to catch the Snitch wins, and at least by that way I could be assured of beating him. As you can see, my mood encompassed a wide spectrum of emotions, from dark humour to misery and depression to despondency. But what was I to do? Why didn't Dumbledore help me if he was so keen on protecting me? Why didn't he help me to learn to fight? Why? I asked myself again and again and again during the course of the summer. Then, invariably my line of thought would switch to the prophecy. Why was I chosen? Why was I so special? Why?  
I slept fitfully these days, and had plenty of nightmares; often I was there watching Sirius falling...falling...I was inches away, inches, I tried to grasp his sleeve or any other part of his clothing, but he seemed to elude my grasp...and he fell....crying out my name, Harry...Harry... There were other dreams, there was one where Voldemort and I were standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, with Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Neville Longbottom, and the rest of the Weasleys and the Order and Dumbledore's Army around me.  
  
I can't move, I can't lift my wand, I am paralysed and Voldemort stands there and begins casting the killing curse at them and they fall, dying, screaming at me to save them, and then I am alone, standing alone in a sea of bodies, and I manage to regain control of my senses, too late I find that I have power over my limbs, and just as we are about to fight, I wake up.  
  
Then there was the one where I am near Sirius, and just as he begins to fall I run as fast as I could, and I manage to hang onto Sirius' clothing...I pull him back with every ounce of strength I ...I've saved him!  
  
Then he turns his face to me and a rotting, maggot infested skeletal face, teeth bared in a frozen grin, stares back at me. The flesh hangs down in strips...I am paralyzed with horror, every part of his face, body, arms, chest, legs, are covered in maggots. I look down at my own hands, and the maggots begin to crawl on to them, inching...writhing... along my skin...get off! I scream and flail my hands in an effort to dislodge them, but they're crawling up my skin...overwhelming me....they seemed to be multiplying...leave me alone! I cry out in helplessness and frustration and despair.  
  
Then I wake up, thankfully, usually by the screeches of Hedwig.  
  
It took a lot out of me; Occlumency couldn't help against nightmares like these, even if they were an invasion of my mind. Ironically, they were genuine nightmares, and in a bizarre ironical way, I was thankful for them, but even though they were not real...they seemed to be terrifyingly real. It seemed to portray what could happen...  
  
However, Voldemort wasn't meddling with my mind...for the moment. I guess I should have been thankful for small mercies. No nightmares of him killing people...any nightmares of torture. I suppose he was lying low for the while. To be honest I didn't think he would try meddling with my mind again for a long time. But I really couldn't say, he could do something of the sort out of sheer bloody mindedness, so all in all I knew the peace couldn't last. And deep down I was right. It wouldn't.  
  
However hard I tried it was hard to imagine Sirius as dead, gone, passed on. It seemed...it seemed unbelievable, surreal. It was my first taste of war, and it was appallingly bitter. Who next? Who would die next? Lupin? Hagrid? Dumbledore? Ron? Hermione? How many more would have to pay the price until I could fight Voldemort and defeat him.... Alternatively, be defeated. If that were the case then it wouldn't matter anyway. Because then we all would die.  
  
July went by and August arrived. Grass parched, plants wilted, people spent most of their time in air- conditioned rooms or in ice cream shops, fewer people went out into the street during the midday, and dogs panted in whatever shade they could find.  
  
Meanwhile the Daily Prophet ran a report on the trial of the Death Eaters captured in the Department of Mysteries affair. Apparently they were to be tried somewhere in the end of the year, and the Prosecutors were busy making sure that they acquired a conviction. I suppose if you looked at the whole scenario from a purely cold and clinical point of view, you could say that the whole Department of Mysteries affair was a success of sorts for the Order. Voldemort didn't get the Prophecy and had no way of doing so, unless he captured someone and forced him or her to talk and only Dumbledore and I knew the exact wording of the prophecy, so it was extremely unlikely that he would find out, unless he kidnapped Dumbledore, which was very unlikely, and there was me, and if I was kidnapped, well it wouldn't matter anymore. On the flip side of the coin, we...I...lost Sirius, and that was a great blow to the Order...  
  
On the issue of the trial, I derived a sort of cold satisfaction on hearing that if Lucius Malfoy was convicted he stood to have all his assets liquidated by the Ministry. I wondered how Draco Malfoy felt about that, living in the street.  
  
Another interesting story in the papers was the tale of Cornelius Fudge. Apparently just after the news of Voldemort's return was published, the entire Wizengamot held a vote of no-confidence in Fudge, and barely he survived, and in a few days time another Wizengamot member brought forward a motion with the proposal that the Wizarding folk of Great Britain should be asked to vote in a referendum, to decide in favour or against the removal of Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. In view of recent circumstances, it was decided to hold the referendum as soon as possible, and so after much deliberation the date was set for the 14th of September 1996. Special mention was given to Dumbledore, who announced that he as against such action, what counted was that we all pulled together, and faced the terrible of threat of Voldemort. His comments were noted in the minutes, but they were lost in the news of the referendum.  
  
Now Fudge was like any other man, he liked his post, he liked the perks, and he liked the power and prestige that went with his post. So he was determined to hang on to his job. He decided to build up a case in his favour in the form of speeches, press conferences... His picture was rarely out of the Daily Prophet, events of himself attending meetings, giving speeches, meeting distinguished statesmen and royalty from foreign nations.  
  
The fate of Percy Weasley, Umbridge and the pro-Fudge faction in the Ministry was unknown to me, but it could be assumed that they were busy helping Fudge win the referendum, rather than planning on opposing Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  
  
So the days seemed to pass by with the haste of a tired tortoise, to me a week seemed like a year. However, for the first time in my life I didn't feel like visiting the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, for that matter. I wanted to be alone. But I didn't want to stay back at Privet Drive either. I wanted to be alone, and not alone. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps by staying away from my friends would result in them being spared because of their association with the marked man....namely, me, automatically marked them as well. But as much as I envisaged myself in the role of the Knight in Shining Armour, I couldn't practically imagine it happening, because whether by association or not, they were marked because they opposed Voldemort.  
  
My OWL results arrived around the end of July, before my birthday, practically the only letter I received during the hols. They were 'okay' to say the least, and luckily enough I only ploughed Divination and History of Magic (And I can only too well recall the events of that particular exam) and I wasn't surprised to receive an 'O' for Defence against Dark Arts, but was pleasantly surprised at the 'O' for Care for Magical Creatures, 'E's for Transfiguration and Charms and 'A's for Astronomy and Herbelogy completed my results. But was it not for my Potion's results, I in my apathetic state of mind, would have cast the parchment aside. I had received- wait for it- an 'E' for Potions! An E! Now believe me that was unbelievable. Technically, I wasn't qualified to become an Auror, as I remembered Snape took only 'O' students for his NEWT classes. But I wasn't too bothered about that. These days I wasn't bothered about anything really. Becoming an Auror in the future was the least of my ambitions, living in the present was my sole concern.  
  
Attached to my results was another form, which was to be filled in and handed to our Head of House the moment we got back to Hogwarts. It was about our NEWT subjects, and I filled in Defence against Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms, then I left the remaining subjects blank with no further ideas. I would ask someone later on; since it seemed more than likely (at least I hoped) that I would get to the Headquarters before the end of the summer.  
  
So I came to the conclusion that learning all I could in shortest space of time would become my immediate priority when I returned to Hogwarts. I needed to learn as much as I could, because I would need every single thing when the time came to fight Voldemort, and my sixth sense told me that the fight wouldn't be long in coming. I could feel it in my bones. It would take place this year or the next; I could feel that in my bones. As soon as possible, certainly before I left school, before I attained the power that comes with being an adult wizard. Currently I was Voldemort's greatest threat, the stumbling block in his path to dominance. With me out of the way, all the avenues would be opened for him to take over Britain.  
  
All in all life was a tad better at the Dursleys. I could use the telephone whenever I wished, but, with the exception of Hermione, the rest of the other people I knew didn't own a telephone. However, Uncle Vernon still found some opportunity to tick me off for something, but aside from that I could come and go as I pleased. Like I said earlier, my moods varied, sometimes I was in a confrontational mood, so then I took vindictive pleasure, I'm ashamed to say, in taking it out on the Dursleys, who couldn't very well respond in kind. I did things like switch channels when they were watching TV, or finishing of my food quickly and asking for seconds so that Dudley had less to eat, though in my defence in the latter case I must say that Dudley would still be unsatisfied with a truck full of food.  
  
Then again when I felt moody and depressed I didn't care less what people around me said, I just sat there apathetically and ignored whoever was having a go at me.  
  
Dudley I must say was on a, what weight watchers would call, high protein or vitamin low calorie diet, or some mumbo jumbo like that. I really didn't know and frankly, I didn't care a hoot. All I gathered was that the diet was in aid of more energy so that Dudley could do that bouncing thing all boxers do when they're in the ring. Mental images of Dudley crashing through the floor of the ring came to mind when I thought of that and besides he didn't bounce, he hurled. Sometimes he had his friends around, and during those encounters I stayed out of their way and Dudley made sure he followed likewise. They usually went up to Dudley's room, where they played Heavy Metal music very, very loudly.  
  
Then again during the few times when I actually felt like having company, I went over to Mrs. Figg's house. She must have felt guilty of her treatment of me over the years, so she went to extra lengths by baking cakes, pies etc. Mrs. Figg served some of the best meals I've ever had at Privet Drive to me during those days; I just wish I had been hungry enough to do justice to her meals.  
  
Occasionally when I had had enough of the Dursleys I went out for long walks, sometime at all sorts of times in the day, in the morning, or in the burning sun; I suppose I must have covered dozens of miles in walks around the neighbourhood, but I never stayed out after sunset. It took my mind of things, to a certain degree, but in the end, I emerged with a rather nasty case of sunburn, which had my skin peeling off in droves. Dudley was overjoyed...Life was so unfair... I wished I could fly, I wished that I had my broom with me, the only time I could relax from the issues down here was when I was up there. Flying was a sort of temporary freedom for me.  
  
And that was all of note that happened to me during the weeks of my summer holiday in the year of the beginning of the Second War. But events of some note did occur during the early weeks of August which ended with me being locked up like last summer.  
  
"HAAAARRRRRYYYY!!!!!!!!!!" roared someone from downstairs. I was in bed, up early as usual, trying to read a book. I sighed wearily. I might not be Uncle Vernon's favourite nephew but the least he could do was come up, call me, and not bellow as if I was a mile away. I tugged on a pair of baggy frayed jeans and a tattered shirt and went downstairs to see what Uncle Vernon wanted. The three of them were in the kitchen, sitting at the table.  
  
"You bellowed, uncle?" I inquired with mock politeness.  
  
He glared at me, "Don't get lippy with me, lad" he retorted. "You're breakfast's ready...or did you expect us to bring it to you in bed?"  
  
I bit back a sharp retort, in the unlikely event of that happening it would more than likely turn out to be poisoned.  
  
I sat down and began eating; ignoring the lustful looks Dudley was shooting at my bacon and eggs. I practically set a speed record wolfing down my food, the quicker I finished the sooner I could get out of here.  
  
Suddenly Uncle Vernon cleared his throat, "We'll be out this afternoon, Dudley. You're mother and I are off to a Smeltings Old Boys meeting...anyway you're in charge of the house, son..." Funny, I thought, Aunt Petunia didn't look like a Smeltings Old Boy to me...  
  
"Can I bring some friends over?" Dudley demanded instantly. "We can be in charge together, and leave us some food will you, real food" Aunt Petunia looked hesitant, "Oh...I don't know..." "Oh go on, Petunia. It won't hurt the boy to have some good food from time to time," boomed Uncle Vernon benevolently.  
  
Hah, I thought sardonically, a case of too much food all the time, if I ever saw one.  
  
"Oh, all right" conceded Petunia reluctantly, and then she made up her mind and cooed "After all Duddykins is a healthy growing boy isn't he?"  
  
Oh crumbs, I was going to vomit.  
  
"....growing up fast isn't he? And very popular too!"  
  
Growing up too fast, I thought. And as popular as the bubonic plague.  
  
Then Uncle Vernon rounded up on me, "And as for you boy, there had better not be any...funny doings hear me?" "I hear you," I said calmly, getting up and wiping my face with the sleeve of my T-shirt. "There's no need to spray me with your spittle to tell me that"  
  
Uncle Vernon's face immediately took on an ugly purplish hue, but any further argument was cut short by the sound of a truck pulling up into the house next to us. Then there was a commotion, people talking, there were several bangs and shouts. Immediately Aunt Petunia galloped into the living room for a better glimpse of the proceedings, closely followed by Dudley and Uncle Vernon, almost flattening me in the process. Curiously, I followed at a more dignified pace. I stood there watching them, Aunt Petunia bobbing her head like an ostrich at their new next-door neighbours. I could distinctly make out three people, a man, woman, and a girl of around fourteen or fifteen.  
  
"Coo!" exclaimed Dudley suddenly at the sight of her. "She's pretty!" "Now, now, now, Dudley" reproved Aunt Petunia gently, "We don't know anything about them do we? Whether the young lady's a suitable kind for you or not...."  
  
I couldn't believe my ears.  
  
"Oh come on, dear. The boy's growing up. He's a man now! And he's getting to be something of a ladies man eh boy? Got an eye out for the pretty lasses?" boomed Uncle Vernon jovially.  
  
More like a blind ladies man, I thought sardonically. Who else would go out with Dudley? I'd always thought that to find a suitable mate for Dudley you'd have to go to the zoo.  
  
But then Uncle Vernon had married Aunt Petunia, so I guessed that there must be more Petunia's out there somewhere. There was no accounting for taste. Different strokes for different folks, and all that. The thought depressed me, which was saying something considering my current mood.  
  
"Not my son!" protested Aunt Petunia. "He's a good boy!"  
  
This was getting better and better, and even now Dudley was shooting me looks of apprehension, and I realized that with his friends over I might ruin his reputation by spilling the beans over 'Big D' and his mother, which I didn't have the slightest hesitation in doing so if I had any trouble from them .  
  
"Ah...takes after his father, he does," said Uncle Vernon putting an arm around Aunt Petunia. "Always an eye out for the pretty lasses!"  
  
I couldn't help it and I snorted with the first genuine laughter I'd had for weeks. Immediately I felt awful, like I'd betrayed Sirius' memory. Their heads swivelled towards me, but I was already gone, bounding upstairs, before they could round on me.  
  
I would've stayed in my room for the whole day but it began to get awfully stuffy around afternoon and opening the window didn't help, in fact it seemed to make it worse. It looked like today was going to be one of those scorchers. Finally, I had had enough, and I leaped off the bed and stalked downstairs and out of the house.  
  
The living room would've been a better place to hang out, since it was air-conditioned. But with Dudley's horde of Neanderthals about to descend on the place the scorching sun and sunburn held more attractive prospects. So I decided, to hell with it, if Voldemort jumped out of a dustbin and tried to do me in, so be it.  
  
Head bowed down with my hands shoved deep into my pockets I strode along the pavement aimlessly, not in any particular direction. The sun shone down brightly and heat seemed to ooze out of the baked pavements. As I was walking along moodily, a few kids, walking on the same side of the pavement crossed over to the other side of the road when they saw me approaching. For some strange reason instead of being depressed, I preferred it that way. Go on, I thought in gloomy satisfaction. I bet you're scared of me, eh? Because I am death, and I bring death to those who are near me. And if I defeat Voldemort it's your lives I'll be saving.  
  
The distance between Number Four and me increased, and I found myself beginning to take longer and longer strides. Magnolia Crescent became Magnolia Road and so on. The houses looked all the same to me, on both sides of the road. Even their owners shared the same depressing characteristics, big red beefy men, with booming voice. Their wives were thin scrawny women with high- pitched nagging voices and their spineless offspring (because they didn't get together and fight back Dudley and his chums). Well-trimmed lawns, neat clean houses, and clean cars – this was the urban utopia advertised on television and papers so often, and by god, it depressed me. These were the people I was fighting for...  
  
Then some strange sensation, detached from my mind, seemed to take over me, if I kept on walking and walking and walking, it reasoned, I would eventually (if I took the correct turns) come to London. A little farther on would be Dover and then Europe and if I kept on going I could escape to another part of the world, the farthest I could go, on the exact opposite side of the globe, somewhere in Japan or China, where going any further would mean that I would be coming back to England. I wanted to climb a mountain and watch the whole world go by, or in other words, I wanted to run, to run away, run away from my destiny, my fate. But you can't, can you? Because even running away is part of your fate.  
  
Suddenly I stopped. "No" I said loudly. A couple of passer-by's looked alarmed at the sight of a teenage boy talking to himself, and they hurried away. Probably though the heat had gotten to me. What was I doing? I couldn't run away. I couldn't just walk away. People needed me. Ron, Hermione, and the others...Dumbledore needed me. But a nasty voice suddenly spoke inside my head, 'Ah' it said. 'Indeed, he's protecting you, but is it for your sake? Isn't he protecting you from yourself? So that you won't run away? Face it Potter, he's not doing this for you, he's doing this so you can get rid of Voldemort.  
  
The thought shook me, because primarily, it was so, so wrong, yet...doubt struck me. "No" I said again. "No" I repeated firmly. I trusted Dumbledore. He was protecting me because he cared about me. I couldn't run away, I needed to face what was in front of me. My parents had died for me, so that I could live to face my destiny, and I couldn't fail them. If anything decided my mind that thought was it, and I turned on my heel and headed back, but not to Privet Drive.  
  
I didn't immediately return to Privet Drive. I walked around, safe in the knowledge that Dumbledore was having an eye kept on me. I walked to the playground, and just wandered around. Sometimes I just sat at the swings and let my mind wander..  
  
The sun was setting when I returned to Number Four. For a moment I was at a loss what to do, read, watch TV...I knew what I really wanted was to leave this place yet I didn't want to go to the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. I wanted to go somewhere where I was alone. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be at Hogwarts where I could lose myself among the other dozens of students.  
  
Company was the last thing I wanted.  
  
I shrugged my shoulders, and opened the door and went inside. The cool of the house hit me and soothed my sun burned skin, sighing in relief I went into the living room... ...Only to run slap-bang right into Dudley, and two of his gang of Ape-men, Piers and Malcolm, watching a wrestling match on the telly. But what caught my eye were the bottles on the coffee table. Beer. Vodka. Alcohol. Food and drink was all over the place, and they had stuffed themselves to the hilt with them. I wasn't surprised. Fags, booze, drugs, rock 'n' roll, and sex seemed to be the route Dud, and his mates were taking. Well, at least the first four items anyway... I could see the apprehension in their eyes when they saw that I had recognized what they were drinking. I felt a sense of power come over me; I could drop these blokes into a deep load of trouble if I desired so. Not that I wanted to, of course. If they wanted to drink and smoke until their kidneys floated away and their lungs were reduced to carbonized lumps then that was their business. But these were the twerps that had made life a living hell for me until I was eleven years old. And I wasn't above a little 'taunting', in getting my own back.  
  
"Oho!" exclaimed Piers drunkenly, "Its Potter!"  
  
"What's this, Dud?" I asked my cousin. "One of your big booze ups? I didn't recall your mother allowing you to drink alcohol in the house?"  
  
The fear that I could see in his eyes grew further. Dudley seemed to be wishing he were elsewhere. I could understand his dilemma. Obviously his mates weren't above 'doing me' to keep my trap shut. But they didn't understand my 'gift' like Dud did. Of course, I had no intention in using magic on them. It was a waste of good magic. But I wasn't going to tell that to Dud, and even though I understood his predicament I wasn't going to help him out if it. I was going to enjoy myself watching him getting himself out of it.  
  
We stared at each other, and behind Dudley, his mates flexed their muscles menacingly. They seemed to be waiting for their leader to give the 'charge' command. However, to their disappointment it wasn't forthcoming.  
  
"Your mum'll be back soon," I told them, after a long silence had elapsed. "Want to pretend that's..." I nodded at the bottles of beer, "...ginger beer? Though I suppose that she'd even believe that"  
  
"Leave my mum out of it!" snapped Dudley.  
  
"Of course" I said in a mock polite voice. "Certainly. Now what?"  
  
"Just...just go!" snarled Dudley. "And don't you mention this to anyone, hear? Or else!"  
  
I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise. "Why, Dudley are you threatening me? 'Cos I don't think you're in a position to threaten me...are you?"  
  
There was another long pause. Then Malcolm piped up in somewhat slurred tones, "Cm'on Dud...lesh get 'im. Shtanding there giving us the csheek..."  
  
"No" Dudley said hesitantly. He paused, obviously, he wanted to have a go at me, but he wasn't that intoxicated to do something he might regret later.  
  
Say what you want about stress busters, but nothing's better than a good confrontational situation to soothe those tense nerves. I felt better than I ever had during the course of the summer.  
  
"What's the matter Dud?" I asked mockingly, "Afraid of itsy-bitsy little Cousin Harry?" I laughed hollowly, "That wasn't the case a few years ago"  
  
Dudley went purple, "Shut your mouth, Potter!" he snapped. "Why don't you...why don't you..."  
  
"Oh come on, Dudley" protested Piers, on whom the drink was already beginning to tell. He was finding it difficult to stand straight  
  
"You're not... going to let 'im get away with thash kind of csheek are yeh...? And what if he shneaks...?"  
  
Dudley wavered hesitantly. What few cogs there were in his brain were whirring busily, trying to find a face saving way out of the situation. I just stared at all of them with a faint smile on my face, I for one wouldn't be helping him out of the situation, I was content to let him stew there... Fortunately for him Malcolm took matters into his own hands, as he grabbed my left arm. Now I wasn't the most violent of boys, nor was I one to use physical violence on other people, but I had spent the most harrowing year, and probably the most frustrating and depressing summer of my life, and to top that I was looking for a way to have a go at the world in general.  
  
I was lucky on that day. These blokes were trained fist fighters. They could have broken every bone in my body (if I hadn't used magic that is) if they wanted to, and there was no doubt that was exactly what they wanted to do. But on that day they were stuffed full of food and more than slightly woozy from the drink. So their reflexes weren't the sharpest in the world. I swung back with my right fist right into his solar plexus, and as I made contact, I heard his breath rush out with an audible 'whoosh'. He staggered back gasping for breath, his face contorted in rage and pain. Obviously, he wasn't used to having his victims fight back. For a second I was nonplussed. I didn't realize that I had the ability to fistfight, and the physical contact was surprising, since I used my wand when I wanted to harm someone...like Malfoy for instance. Whatever hesitation I had about getting into a fight melted away at the sight of the grunting Malcolm.  
  
"Why you, you –" he swore coarsely, "I'll get you, you..."  
  
Any further more thought was halted when Piers grabbed my arms in a steely grip. I responded by stomping on his foot as hard as I could, and as he howled and let me go, I swung around and swung my fist right into his face. My fist connected with a crack, and he staggered back, tripped, and fell down. Meanwhile I ducked an enraged Malcolm who had let fly with a punch that would've knocked me into the next room, and into the next dimension.  
  
"Stop! Stop!" cried Dudley.  
  
He might as well have tried to stand in front of a loaded dump truck with no brakes. By now his two flunkeys were operating on their will, and they were determined to have a go at me and recover lost pride. Besides their reputations were at stake here, losing face with me, the weediest kid in the neighbourhood would make them the laughing stock of the entire town.  
  
Then Piers, who, by the way, was a Rugby coloursman, re-entered the fray by pouncing on me and tackling me to the ground and Malcolm jumped in and smashed his fist right into my face.  
  
My glasses flew off, my head snapped back, and I could hear a curious ringing sound. But by then I was really, really angry. I let my frustrations, my troubles, my anger take over. I guess some surplus magic must have leaked off me because there was a crack... and Piers flew off me like a bat out of hell, he would've hit the wall if Dudley, fortunately, hadn't been in his way. Down they went in a heap, a mass of tangled arms and legs, but a moment later Piers had freed himself from Dudley, amidst loud swearing and grunting, and re-entered the fray.  
  
With a bellow of rage, I somehow swung back at the remaining red face above me. Malcolm's hands flew up to his nose, and I let my sense of control go, and began swinging at both of them. I felt something hot running down my face, but I was in another world, a world dominated by violence, by rage and fury. What really took me by surprise was that I was enjoying myself. I kept swinging at them, and Piers and Malcolm swung back at me. All this happened instantly, in seconds at the most.  
  
"Stop it! Stop it!" I heard Dudley's voice reach a high-pitched squeak. "Let him go!"  
  
I grabbed Piers' shirt, more for steadying myself than anything else and let go with the hardest blow I could muster. He fell back, and I turned to Malcolm.  
  
"Stop it! Stop it!" Dudley screamed...and, and hang on a moment, Dudley's voice wasn't that high pitched, it was a girlish voice, an irritating but familiar one, like the bark of an annoying Pekingese.  
  
Aunt Petunia.  
  
"WHY YOU...YOU...BOY!!!"  
  
And Uncle Vernon.  
  
That was how I was confined to the house. A prisoner of sorts. My Uncle almost yelled himself to a coronary... Now normally I wasn't one to take things like this lying down, and if I had desired so I could have rebelled, the ways were endless, not to mention actually sending a letter to Lupin and co. But I knew that what I did was stupid. Really, really stupid. Even though I hadn't started the fight, I should have known better. I considered myself above such juvenile acts, and at the very least, I considered myself above Dudley and his mates. To top things off I didn't feel like arguing with people like Vernon Dursley. I wanted to be left alone. So I was confined to barracks, and at least that was something. Because I could watch the telly, and if wanted, to use the telephone. I was forbidden to step out of the house. I did, however, gain a certain vindictive pleasure when Dudley was also forbidden from bringing his mates home.  
  
However, I suspected that they wouldn't complain too much. To confess the truth I was more than surprised and not a little scared at the hidden source of strength I had found within me. Was it physical strength, or was it connected to my magical powers by some way? Whatever the reason may be, it wasn't there during my previous encounters with Dudley and his gang. So...why had it revealed itself now?  
  
No doubt, the Dursleys would have dearly liked to lock me up in my bedroom like last summer. But that would have been the last straw from my point, and even though Uncle Vernon had the intelligence capacity of a squashed apricot, he really wasn't that stupid, at least not in the Crabbe and Goyle class. He wasn't anxious to give Moody a reason to intervene on my behalf. So they left me alone, and I didn't bother writing to anyone. I didn't write much anyway, just the mandatory 'Everything's just Grand' letter to Moody. I even stopped writing to Hermione and Ron after they stopped writing to me. After all why should I? If they couldn't be bothered....I thought uncharitably. And so, that was that.  
The days passed. The second week of August arrived. A few more weeks and I would be back at Hogwarts for my penultimate year. To date I hadn't thought of much about life after Hogwarts, because I was concerned about trying to stay alive during the present. How would I spend the rest of my life? (Optimistic thinking of course) Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Sailor, Doctor, Lawyer. Beggerman, Thief, or an Indian Chief? Being an Auror would be cool...in another lifetime. After that, I was left with pitifully few options. Therefore, I decided to leave the decision until later. Take the most important subjects that would help me stay alive, was my philosophy. I would also organize myself, make lists, or in other words do things the Hermione Granger Way. On that day only Aunt Petunia and me were in the house, Dudley was off bullying some poor kid into submission; while Uncle Vernon was off at work, bullying the rundown masses at the drill factory into submission. Like father, like son. Moreover, as I sat at the kitchen table doodling on a piece of paper, I made the following list. My priorities for the year consisted of: 1. Stay alive 2. Try not to be killed  
  
At least I hadn't lost my sense of humour, albeit being awfully macabre. Aunt Petunia was busy making dinner, humming a tune, while she washed crockery in the sink. Involuntarily my eyes were drawn to her, and I couldn't help but eye her with a mixture of curiosity and bitterness. Queries whizzed through my mind. Was she as bad as I had previously thought? We all had our faults, and Aunt Petunia was obviously no exception. Petty, hypocritical, insincere...I could go on all day. Yet... She had taken me in, based on flimsy evidence presented by an old man she had, probably, never set eyes on in her life. Why? Why had she done that, to take in the son of the sister she detested, who represented the world she despised heartily? I didn't know the answer then. Moreover, it was some time before I did finally discover what the enmity between the two sisters was. However, more of that later.  
  
"Aunt Petunia" I said impulsively, deciding to take the bull by the horns. "Why did you take me in when I was a baby?"  
  
There was a crash, as she dropped some spoons she was washing. Her beady eyes snapped towards me and glared at me.  
  
"Never you mind that!" she snapped after a momentary pause. "We... we will regret that decision to the end of our days....so, so don't make matters worse....bringing up things like that..." she muttered furiously as she went back to her washing up, pots and pans clanged as she furiously scrubbed them.  
  
"Would you have treated me differently if Uncle Vernon had allowed you to?" I asked recklessly.  
  
She looked back at me, and there was a momentary pause before she screeched, "You were treated too well!"  
  
She returned to her washing, muttering under her breath "Growing up in a house...from a nice thug"  
  
"No different from your son" I wanted to add, hearing those last words, but for some reason I kept quiet.  
  
I continued to stare at her, and gradually she began to notice it, and seemed to grow more uncomfortable.  
  
"What?" she snapped after an unbearably long pause.  
  
"I'm your only blood relative..." I said quietly. "What have I done so wrong, for you to treat me like a dog for fifteen years?"  
  
Now, I really got her attention. She stared at me as if I had slapped her, and I stared back at her. Our eyes locked, and we remained like that for what seemed to be an eternity.  
  
She seemed shocked, speechless, the blood rushed from her face, leaving it chalky white, which was something I had never seen. It's hard to describe something like that, and only those who have experienced similar situations could understand what I speak of here. She seemed to have realized something at that very moment which had escaped her notice for years.  
  
'We be of the same blood, ye and I', I thought bleakly.  
  
Then the spell was broken by the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway and into the garage. Uncle Vernon, master and provider of the Dursley family, the oppressor of the masses at the drill factory, or as he was known there 'that fat twerp', had returned home. Aunt Petunia looked away quickly, and the connection between us was broken, as she shot a terrified look at the front door, where Uncle Vernon would appear in a moment.  
  
"Go away!"  
  
"But-" I protested, desperate the information I craved, frustrated by the timing of Uncle Vernon. She had been so close to revealing the mystery to me, so close. I could tell it. It took a person who concealed one of the biggest secrets of lifetime to understand how someone else was close to revealing their secrets; we had been so close we had come to a genuine conversation.  
  
"Fine" I said in frustration, determined to get in the last word. "I'm going," I added roughly before I flounced off.  
  
Dinner was a silent and subdued affair for Aunt Petunia and me. Dudley and Vernon kept up a stream of chatter, which made up for the silence from her. Of course, nobody bothered talking to me, something for which I was always extremely thankful. As it was Uncle Vernon was in a jovial mood that night, he had fired two plant workers, crushed an impending strike ruthlessly, and terrorized his new and umpteenth secretary.  
  
The two of them were busy talking about going to a football match sometime, to see Chelsea play some other club, most likely during the half-term holidays. I really didn't pay much attention to them, I just picked at my food moodily. Likewise, throughout the meal, Aunt Petunia kept on staring into her food, and halfway through, Uncle Vernon inquired solicitously of her, as to whether she was feeling well.  
  
"Oh no!" she said in a false bright voice. "Just a slight headache, that's all!"  
  
Uncle Vernon looked puzzled, and then as if on further thought, he glared at me, as if his wife's headache was my fault, (though he probably was right on that count). With an ill humoured grunt, he went back to his conversation with his son. After listening them blathering on and on, about Soccer matches, boxing, half term holidays etcetera, etcetera...I had had enough. I stood up abruptly, and said to my surprised relatives,  
  
"I'll be in my bedroom if you want me" I addressed the last part of the sentence to Aunt Petunia, who didn't bother looking up at me. Uncle Vernon grunted, as a sign of having heard me, and that it would be a cold day in hell if he ever voluntarily visited my bedroom. Only too happy to leave, than remain for the course of the dismal meal, I bounded upstairs, and into my room.  
  
Whatever the reason was for the bad blood between my mother and aunt it was something bad. Something awful. No one was that stubborn, not even my aunt, and no one hung onto childhood disputes for such a long time. That's for sure. I wondered what the story was.... Life seemed to be full of mysteries, well, it seemed so to me, perhaps it applied only to my life, I thought sombrely as I paced around the confined space of my room. Then I remembered that I had been preoccupied with my mother and Aunt Petunia during the course of the day that I had completely forgotten about Sirius. With a sigh, I kicked off my sneakers, trying not to tear the soles off in the process, and I flopped down on my bed. I stared out of the window. Perhaps that was the way to forget, to shove the bad memories into a dark corner of my mind....preoccupation meant that I was too busy to allow my mind to wander. However, the problem was how could I occupy myself while I was stuck here in the Dursleys with absolutely nothing to do?  
  
I must have fallen asleep, because I didn't recall the passing of time. I was awoken by a loud 'pop', the familiar sound of someone Apparating. My eyes snapped open, and it took me a moment to realize that I was still at the Dursleys, not at Hogwarts. The whole room was blurred, and I realized that someone had removed my glasses while I slept.  
  
Initially there was the sound of Dudley playing heavy metal on his stereo at full volume. Then it was abruptly switched off. This was followed by curious sounds from downstairs, a few muffled voices, the sound of something smashing, and then a scream from Aunt Petunia. This was followed by the voice of Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to broadcast to the nation without the aid of a microphone.  
  
"DAMMED FREAKS!!! .... I TELL YOU! NO DAMN RIGHT!!! ...RESPECT FOR....PRIVACY"  
  
Then there was the sound of approaching footsteps, the floorboards creaked. I whipped out my wand, and pointed it steadily at the door, whoever it was, stopped outside my door. Then he or she knocked on my door. An urgent tapping.  
  
"Harry?" said the familiar voice of Professor Lupin, "It's me, Remus. We've come to pick you up"  
  
My heart leaped into my throat in relief and happiness. Finally, I thought, I was going to get out of here. Then a paranoid thought popped into my mind.  
  
"Um...how do I know whether...you're...er...you?" I asked hesitantly. Then I thought how ridiculous this sounded, I was getting as bad as Moody. There was a nonplussed pause. I could hear the voice of Nymphadora Tonks muttering, "Bad as Mad Eye... infectious...sodding...paranoia ..." and other choicely epithets.  
  
"Well...how about that time you contacted me at Headquarters earlier this year regarding...um...a slight problem with a teacher and an event that took place roughly twenty five years ago" replied Lupin after a moment of thought.  
  
"....I WON'T HAVE IT...I TELL YOU!!!!..."  
  
"Did he? What was it?" asked Tonks curiously, seeming to ignore the ruckus from downstairs.  
  
"That's between Harry and me," replied Lupin coolly. "Are you satisfied Harry?" he called through the door.  
  
I was already packing, before he could finish his words. "Yeah, yeah, sorry" I called through the door.  
  
"Not at all"  
  
The door creaked open, and the two adults came into my room. Tonks looked like she always did, except for the fact that today she had long blonde hair. Lupin looked like had had when I last saw him on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. However, there was a more...there was no correct word to describe it, solemn...sad aura about him.  
  
"So what's this we've been hearing about fist-fights eh?" asked Tonks the moment she entered the room.  
  
I had the grace to look shamefaced, "Yeah...just a slight misunderstanding...of sorts" Lupin stopped me from packing, and with the briefest flick of his wand had all my stuff into the trunk in a jiffy.  
  
"Impressive" observed Tonks, eyeing the neatly flooded clothes, and stacked books in my trunk. "You'll make someone a good wife someday," she added, and then she cocked her head and listened...  
  
"...WALKING IN HERE....AS IF THEY OWN THE RUDDY PLACE!!!!..."  
  
"Your uncle seems upset" she commented idly.  
  
Lupin smiled, and levitated the trunk with another flick of his wand. "Where're we going?" I asked curiously. I was about to protest if we were headed towards Grimmauld Place, which was the last place where I wanted to go. "The Burrow?"  
  
"No, not the Burrow...or Grimmauld Place" answered Lupin carefully. "We've been spending the last few weeks preparing...another headquarters of sorts. It was Dumbledore's idea" A second headquarters? This was news to me. "Oh...is it in London?" I asked curiously. The two adults looked at each other for a second, before Tonks replied, "It's...in the countryside" she replied cautiously. "Anyway I'll daresay you'll find out soon"  
  
"We must hurry, Harry," Lupin told me, "There'll be time for talk later" and so he ushered me out of the room and downstairs. He levitated the trunk as far as the living room, perhaps because there was the danger of someone in the street spotting us. Not to mention that it was also in consideration of Uncle Vernon's blood pressure.  
  
The living room was a sight, pieces of trinkets that Aunt Petunia had lovingly exhibited all over the room, were scattered everywhere in billions of pieces. A chair was overturned, and a lamp lay shattered on the floor. My relatives stood at the farther end of the room, facing a posse of wizards and witches. The scene was oddly reminiscent of a Wild Wild West showdown as seen on the telly.  
  
The group of wizards and witches included Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Shacklebolt, Podmore (who seemed to have been released from prison) and to my surprise Fred and George Weasley. McGonagall smiled at me, Flitwick gave me a cheery wave, and the latter pair beamed at me.  
  
"All right Harry?" they asked coming over to me and taking my trunk.  
  
"Yeah" I replied gruffly and briefly wondering what they would say if I said no, "What are you two doing here?"  
  
"Joined up" Fred replied. "Nothing to stop us now that we're grown up to be responsible adults" I snorted derisively at that, I suspected that they had never been responsible in their lives.  
  
"Well scratch the last bit," said George grinning. "Anyway, we'll be going by um... well, you'll see, to um...our destination, the others will apparate as soon as it's safe"  
  
"Will anyone tell me where we're going?" I asked irritably. Being kept in the dark seemed to be the story of my life.  
  
"You'll find out," said Fred, sharing an odd look with his sibling.  
  
Lupin placed a hand on my shoulder, "We're ready to go, Harry," he told me. He looked at my relatives and said, "We'll be going now..." he paused. "I daresay you know when to pick him up" Uncle Vernon who had lapsed into an odd silence was suddenly roused out of it,  
  
"Just...just....GO!" he snarled.  
  
Tonks shot him a haughty, disgusted look. "Funny way of saying goodbye, eh?" she commented caustically. She seemed to be about to say more, but she desisted when Lupin laid a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Let's go," he said quietly and he ushered us outside without further ado. Neither of my relatives said anything to me and I didn't bother looking back. It was no use.  
  
All of us sidled out into the garden. The whole street was pitch dark, the streetlamps had gone out, and save for a few lights shining in homes, where people were up late, the street was deserted. It was a gloomy night, and a thick blanket of clouds hid the stars and the moon. A gently but cold breeze wafted across the street. I shivered. Lupin and Tonks joined Professor McGonagall and co. in conversation out of earshot.  
  
What really caught my attention was a Land Rover parked askew on the pavement directly in front of the house. Describing it as a jeep would be stretching the truth quite a bit, It looked more like a mobile rabbit hutch. However, it could pass for a Land Rover at a second glance...from about three miles away. It was one of the most tumbledown wrecks I had ever clapped eyes on, rusty doors, dented bodywork, and dusty windows not forgetting the traditional bumper hanging loose.  
  
"Crumbs" I said, aghast.  
  
"We were sure you would say something like that," said a grinning Fred. "That's going to get us to our 'destination'"  
  
I was so dazed that I let the 'destination' comment go by without a remark. "But in how may pieces?" I muttered under my breath.  
  
"Sorry, Harry. Didn't catch that"  
  
"Nothing"  
  
"We've been working on her for weeks now with Viktor. Whenever we've got free time of course. Dad gave us hand too...and you'd do well not to avoid the smart remarks in front of Viktor...he's really fond of this contraption"  
  
"Viktor? As in Viktor Krum?"  
  
"Yeah, the bloke came over when the balloon went up a few weeks back...." he paused awkwardly, and then went on hurriedly, "He's been in contact with Dumbledore for months, trying to drum up support for us with Charlie, over in Europe. Then when the Ministry accepted that You-Know-Who was back, he came over, saying that he was fed up and wanted to see some action"  
  
He would have said more, but Lupin and Tonks had finished their talk with the others, who apparated away with a flurry of pops. I could hear Uncle Vernon's squawks of protest from inside the house at the din.  
  
"Let's be off then...we'll have plenty of time to talk later," Lupin told us. "Get Harry's trunk into the back, you two," he added to the twins.  
  
The twins heaved my trunk to the jeep, while I followed with Hedwig's cage. Fred grasped hold of the handle and yanked the door open. Unfortunately, the handle came with it.  
  
"Oh bugger," he muttered irritably.  
  
Giving him a 'Don't tell you I didn't warn you look', and with an ominous feeling of impending doom, I climbed into the back, which was cluttered with muggle tools and pieces of scrap iron. There were two seats on the sides of the jeep, each facing the other.  
  
There sitting in the drivers' seat, twisted around to watch our progress was Viktor Krum. His normally morose features relaxed into a smile of greeting.  
  
"Hello, Harry Potter" he said in his odd formal way as we shook hands. "It is good to see you again"  
  
"Yeah, good to see you too" I replied as Tonks and Lupin got in front with Krum and at first sight it was obvious that there was going to be a tight squeeze. "Budge up along there" Tonks told Krum, petulantly.  
  
"I cannot!" he replied haughtily. "I am driving...unless you wish me to hang out the door on our way home"  
  
"Now there's an idea..."  
  
Krum chose to ignore that comment. He reached down and pushed the starter. The engine coughed, and after a few goes it finally caught and started with the utmost unholy din.  
  
It was like a chorus of banshees letting rip at full blast at the top of their voices. It was as if the Big Bad Wolf was chain sawing through Red Riding Hood's grandmothers' closet, with granny still stuck inside it, shrieking at the top of her voice. I clapped my hands over my ears and so did twins, Lupin and Tonks. I then began laughing aloud uncontrollably, when I thought what Uncle Vernon must be going through at the moment. Lights began flicking on all over the street, and I was in no doubt that Uncle Vernon was unleashing a tirade of fluent invective against every wizard and witch born and to be born on this planet.  
  
"YOU....GREAT...THICK....BULGARIAN...GUMP!!!" screamed Tonks over the din. She reached down and flicked a switch, and immediately the noise dwindled down to acceptable levels.  
  
"So much for a quiet getaway..." I remarked bitingly.  
  
"Quick, activate the invisibility spells," urged Lupin calm and as cool as ever, "Before someone comes"  
  
Krum reached down and flicked another switch. Nothing happened. I still could see the bonnet, and the mirrors and everything. Krum seemed to be peering at an odd dial on the dashboard.  
  
"It is okay," he announced in satisfaction.  
  
"Huh? How?" I asked in bemusement. "I mean I can see..."  
  
"But anyone outside can't" Lupin told me calmly. "We've been doing some modifications with the spell," he added watching Krum rev the engine.  
  
As Krum put the Rover into gear and moved, away Lupin reached out of the window. One by one orbs of light flew streamed back into the streetlamps, and I could see through the back window, the streetlights flicking back on until the whole street was lit up.  
  
The Rover cruised down the street gradually getting into its stride. Well the proper term would be gallop, but then it didn't matter..."We tried the original invisibility spell," said Fred chattily.  
  
"But the engine dropped out during a test flight" added George cheerfully.  
  
This didn't do anything to ease my fears...and then a terrible thought sprang into my mind.  
  
"Half a mo....hang on a sec" I said in growing apprehension. "Did you just say test flight...?"  
  
The words were hardly out of my mouth when Krum yanked on a lever next to the gearbox and the Rover shuddered and then soared into the sky like some prehistoric flying beast. In desperation and panic, and nearly soiling my pants, I grabbed hold of the nearest thing to stop myself from being thrown out of the Rover..., which was Tonks' neck.  
  
Pandemonium reigned inside the jeep, Hedwig and the Land Rover, both amazingly sounding the same, squawked and screeched in protest, Fred and George, hanging onto their seats for dear life, whooped ecstatically, while Tonks gurgled at my death grip.  
  
"LEGGG....GO....GURKKK....CHOK...AHRGGG...ING....MEEE" gurgled Tonks hoarsely.  
  
The Land Rover droned on into the night sky while the slipstream blowing through the window mussed up Tonks' hair, which got in everyone's eyes, especially mine. Then another terrible thought struck me. No parachutes!  
  



End file.
